Cold
by shookenuppepsi
Summary: AU of post-season 5. Sam wakes up cold and alone, not sure what's real and what isn't. (M for mild language and violent themes.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my first fanfic ever. I've had the idea for this story floating around for a while, but now I'm finally putting it on paper. My plans include a complete story, so more will be on its way soon. Reviews are welcome. Enjoy!

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own the boys, all that belongs to the Supernatural peeps.

**COLD:**

** Chapter 1**

The first thing I noticed was the cold. Covered in snow, my whole body was racked with shivers. I raised my right hand from my side and let the snow run through my fingers and down my bare arm.

I'd been cold in Hell. Fuck, I'd lost body parts from frostbite before Lucifer grew them back. But he'd never got the consistency of snow quite right. Though the Cage was whatever he wanted it to be, I guess that he'd been in the warm climes of Hell so long that he couldn't remember what snow felt like. At first, lifetimes ago, I had been confused that I was freezing to death from what essentially felt like bits of Styrofoam.

The difference ceased to matter quickly, though, because I died either way.

But now, the perfect snowflakes against my goose-pimpled skin made a smile quirk my mouth for the first time in eons. Against a backdrop of the night sky, complete with perfect crescent moon, it was the prettiest setting for torture yet. The wind whistled through the barren trees, ruffling the snow around my body.

I wanted to hope that I was impossibly escaped from the pit, but I found it much more likely that Lucifer had finally perfected his recipe for cold.

Escaped or not, I had to move before I became an ice cube. Wrenching my body into a sitting position and then standing was no easy feat. I was cold enough for my motor functions to be off and my joints were still aching from my last round of being torn limb from limb.

Once I stood, I looked at my naked body in disappointment. Dean had described his new body in detail when he'd risen from Hell and I didn't match any of it. Although Lucifer healed my wounds before starting the next round of torture, he liked to leave faint pink scars as reminders.

"_A roadmap of where I've been," he whispered, cutting ribbons of flesh off my back._

Lines still marred every inch of the skin I could see, meaning I wasn't free of the Cage as I had dared to dream. Without even a sigh to express the feeling of freshly crushed hope, I blundered through the knee deep snow, directionless.

Although I knew I'd die whether I stayed lying down or walked on, Lucifer had never defeated my will to fight. Sometimes he tried hard to destroy my sense of self and through those decades of abuse I barely held on. Most of the time, though, he enjoyed playing with a pet uselessly struggled.

I trudged up a hill, naked and cold. The clothing I'd worn to jump into the Cage had fallen to bits long ago. Lucifer enjoyed watching me face any manner of environment without even the thin protection of a layer of cotton, but he'd occasionally give me something to wear. Only to make the humiliation of stripping all the more keen.

I shuddered and pulled myself to the present. I kept my arms folded in front of my body and my head down in an attempt to ward off the chill of the wind trying to knock me off my feet. Because of that, I didn't notice the light until I was already down the other side of the hill.

Not twenty feet ahead of me was a brightly glowing, green sign that pronounced the presence of the cleanest bathrooms in Rothsay, MN. I frowned in bemusement. Lucifer liked the setting of his torture to be as removed from civilization as possible. Deserts, glaciers, jungles. Never a convenience store in Minnesota.

I was approaching from the front. Only one car, a rusty blue pickup truck, was in the lot and I could see the closed sign from where I was standing.

If someone was in there, like the truck suggested, my naked and scarred self wouldn't inspire much trust. Forcing my shivering body to walk again, I crossed the old road and made my way to the back door.

Hoping I wouldn't have to break a window, I turned the handle. The door opened easily. Thank god for small town trust. I staggered in as quietly as I could, closing the door behind me.

No lights were on, but the moonlight through the windows illuminated a standard general store. Food on the shelves, movies along the walls, and there. Racks of clothes on the other end of the shop.

Still shivering, though the store was quite a bit warmer than outside, I padded my way over. Grabbing the largest sizes and ripping off the tags with my teeth, I pulled on some sweats, a t-shirt, and a hoodie with the Twins logo on the front, all black. The sweats were long enough, but I had to tighten the waistband as far as it would go. The t-shirt was a little too tight and the sweater's sleeves were a couple inches too short, but already I could feel my shaking body warm up.

A surprised gasp from the other side of the store, near the register, made me look up. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, her wide eyes staring at the stranger in her no longer empty store.

I raised my hands in a conciliatory manner. Now that I was looking that direction I could see the door tucked away behind the counter, probably leading to an office where the girl had been. I cursed inwardly for not checking the store before dressing.

"Wha-what do you want?" The girl stammered, stepping back around the counter.

"Nothing," I said. Or tried to. My latest session with the devil downstairs left my voice weak and rasping. My words sounding like an animalistic grunt.

I cleared my throat and tried again. "Sorry," I whispered. "I'm leaving now."

The girl's hands fluttered towards the phone on the wall and I grimaced. Reality or not, I couldn't let her call for help. I'm sure Lucifer's version of the police wouldn't simply handcuff me and ask some questions.

Slowly, I took a step in her direction. When she didn't respond, other than to keep staring, I took a couple more, keeping my hands where she could see them.

Once I was close enough, I leapt over the counter and grabbed the girl's hands in one move. She only had time to let out a frightened squeak before I knocked her hard enough on the head for her to lose consciousness without any permanent damage.

"Sorry," I said in my unfamiliar voice as I quickly bound her arms to chair behind the counter. I patted down her pockets and palmed her car keys, presumably to the old Ford out front.

Needing to leave before she woke up, I grabbed a newspaper, some protein bars, and a couple bottles of water as I ran out the front door, which wasn't locked either. As I ran back into the cold, crisp air, I realized I hadn't stolen any shoes. I glanced from my bare feet in the snow to the store and decided not to risk staying any longer.

As old as the truck looked, it fired up with one try. I turned the heat on as high as it could go and looked at the local newspaper. The front page proclaimed the success of the county's high school football team, but I was more interested in the date.

January 27, 2011. I'd jumped into the Cage only eight months ago? Scrubbing a chapped hand across my face, I tried not to consider how many years I had spent in Hell. Might still be spending in Hell, actually, though my doubts about that were growing. No matter how realistic he made his sessions, Lucifer never had the patience to wait this long before actually starting his games.

I tossed the paper onto the passenger seat along with my other pilfered goods and opened the glove compartment. Some pink notes and other pieces of trash fell out, as if the teenager had cleaned the truck in a hurry and shoved her garbage where no one could see it. Amid the mess there was a roadmap and I opened it.

Rothsay, Minnesota, was hardly even a speck on the map, but I noticed its close vicinity to Sioux Falls. Without meaning to, I remembered the feeling of snapping my fingers and causing my surrogate father's neck to snap with a brutal crunch. I shuddered as if I were still freezing out in the snow, shoving my guilt down deep.

I shifted gears and started driving toward South Dakota. In four hours I'd be at Bobby's and inhabited or not, it should still provide a safe place to take shelter while I tried to figure out what was real.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Thank you all for reading. I'm having a blast writing this story. I've actually gotten to some dialogue, so I hope you all like it. All feedback is appreciated!

_Disclaimer: _Usual stuff. Don't own the characters as much as I may want to.

**Chapter 2**

The sun was just rising as I approached the salvage yard on foot. I had ditched the stolen truck a few miles out, not wanting to lead authorities straight to me.

The snow had thinned out an hour ago, only about an inch left on the ground. My bare feet were cold, but my soles were thick from me being essentially shoeless for a couple centuries. I'd had hours to realize I couldn't be in the pit anymore. I was back on Earth.

As much as I wanted to push my questions aside, I couldn't bury my confusion about what was happening. How was I out? More importantly, who got me out?

If Dean had made another deal, I'd be the one to strangle him back to Hell.

*****************************SPN**************************

"Think it worked?"

Bobby looked up from the still burning bundle of herbs in his hands. "No way to know yet, I guess." He tossed them into the fireplace, took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, and picked up the phone.

*****************************SPN**************************

I'm not sure what I expected from Bobby's place, but it wasn't for everything to look exactly the same. There was still the ugly yellow Mustang without tires by the front gates, still the rusted out shell of an SUV by the garage.

There was even still smoke coming out of the chimney, smelling faintly of sage.

Not wanting to go in unprepared, I circled the house and looked in the windows. Empty beer bottles still lined every counter, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and books full of obscure knowledge covered the ground.

My palms itched. I hadn't held a book in so long, I could barely remember the feel of ink beneath my fingers.

A familiar roar penetrated my thoughts. I instinctively crouched down and crept towards the front of the house.

The man stepped out of the sleek, black car and ran a loving hand over the hood, as if he hadn't driven her in a long time. I could feel my heart pound harder.

He looked good, I thought. Not the pulpy mess that was my last image of him. But I had tried not think of him bloody and broken when Lucifer wasn't toying with me. Instead I held his dream in my mind, using it as a charm to ward off Dean's screams while the devil rolled his eyeballs around in his hand.

The only time we'd used the African dream root, my brother had laughed off his fantasy of Lisa sitting, beckoning him towards a serene picnic. But I liked to imagine Dean sitting there, eating grapes and laughing with her. His only worry in the world was how much time he had before picking Ben up from baseball practice.

He looked tired though, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of concern in my chest. Dark circles ringed underneath his eyes and he looked like he'd slept in those clothes. I couldn't guess at his thoughts when he looked silently at the house before walking inside.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I hadn't expected to need to deal with Dean so soon. All I wanted was a safe place to hunker down for a couple days and figure out what was happening. Now I had to choose. Was I ready to face my brother? I looked down at my hands, covered with swirls of scars. Was he ready to see me?

*****************************SPN**************************

Dean took a moment to look over the entryway, disconcertingly familiar. It had been eight months since he'd stood in this house. Eight long months and he wasn't sure how he felt about being back.

"Bobby!" He shouted into the house. He heard a curse and a shuffle of papers and he walked into the living room.

"You got here quick," the grizzled hunter said, nonchalantly sliding some papers under a book. Dean couldn't help his sudden curiosity. Bobby didn't have a subtle bone in his body.

"I was nearby. I got your message and figured I could stop by." He'd been taking the Impala out for a cruise, trying to silence Sam's unending screams in his nightmares. Dean put his hands in his pockets and stepped further into the room. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Damnit, boy," Bobby muttered and stepped around the desk. He grabbed Dean's shoulders, pulling him into a gruff hug. "It's good to see you, Dean, but you didn't have to come here. I know you've got a nice life in the suburbs." His eyes flicked to the closed kitchen door and back to Dean's face.

Stifling his smirk at Bobby's discomfiture, Dean idly picked up some of the papers littering the old hunter's desk.

"Watcha working on? Your message said you had a question for me."

"Did I?" Bobby shifted uncomfortably, eyes flitting around the room. "Oh I was just going to say—"

"I'll bring some Windex with me next time, Bobby," came a voice from the kitchen. "Your house really needs a good clea—oh!" The woman stopped talking when she opened the door and saw Dean standing there.

"Lisa?" Dean exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?" She definitely wasn't pulling a long shift at the hospital like she'd told me.

She tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture, before walking over and brushing a light kiss over Dean's lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you any of this."

"Any of what?" Dean asked suspiciously, though his anger had dissipated with the touch of her lips. He hadn't thought Lisa even knew who Bobby was, let alone expected her to walk out of his kitchen.

"She's been helping me," Bobby shrugged, looking relieved.

"Helping with what?" Dean couldn't help his flash of concern about Lisa being put in danger. He ran his gaze over her lithe body, looking for injuries. "I swear if one hair on her body is hurt, I'll run you over with the Impala, Bobby."

Lisa rolled her eyes and pulled out the papers Bobby had tried to hide. "No, nothing like that. I didn't want you to get your hopes up before we had anything," she said, handing to papers over to Dean. "But we found something."

Flipping through the pages, he wasn't sure what he was seeing. A lot of Latin, some intricate diagrams, an innocent looking list of ingredients. "What is this for?"

She fidgeted, looking to Bobby for some help that wasn't coming. She sighed. "I knew you weren't happy and I couldn't keep not doing anything about it."

Dean opened his mouth to say of course he was happy, but Lisa raised her hand to stop it.

"No, it's been eating you up inside and I've never blamed you for it. Sam's sacrifice, him being in Hell," Dean flinched at the pain in his chest at the reminder. "You haven't slept a whole night in all the time we've been together. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Lisa shrugged. "I've been working with Bobby to find a way to get him out."

Feeling equal parts hopeful and wary, Dean looked back at the papers he was holding. "Did it…have you found a way?"

Lisa took his hand in hers in a comforting gesture. "That's why Bobby called. We only just finished the ritual. You weren't supposed to know about this so soon, but we figured if it worked, you would be the first to know."

Dean shook his head. "I haven't seen anything." A sudden thought occurred to him and he turned to glare at Lisa. "You didn't make a deal did you," he accused.

She rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "I love you, sweetheart, but I'm not stupid. Of course we didn't make a deal."

"Give your angel friend a call," Bobby butted in.

With a fresh swell of hope Dean closed his eyes. "Cas? Uh, I have a question for you and I really hope you can help." He waited a couple seconds before opening his eyes and looking around the room. No angel. He shrugged. "Guess Cas has more important things—" The flutter of a trench coat behind him made him break off and spin to face his old friend.

Before he could ask anything though, the angel cocked his head to the side and asked, "Why is Sam standing outside?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I found it a little harder to write from Dean's perspective, but I had fun exploring more of Sam from his brother's POV. As always, I hope you enjoy and feedback is completely welcome!

**_Last Time:_**

"Give your angel friend a call," Bobby butted in.

With a fresh swell of hope Dean closed his eyes. "Cas? Uh, I have a question for you and I really hope you can help." He waited a couple seconds before opening his eyes and looking around the room. No angel. He shrugged. "Guess Cas has more important things—" The flutter of a trench coat behind him made him break off and spin to face his old friend.

Before he could ask anything though, the angel cocked his head to the side and asked, "Why is Sam standing outside?"

**Chapter 3:**

Dean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He ran to the door and threw it open.

"Sam!" Dean's eyes flicked frantically, scanning the salvage yard for a hint of his brother. "Sammy!"

A hint of movement from the side of the house had him sprinting over, feet barely touching the ground in his haste to see his brother with his own eyes. He turned the corner and stopped abruptly.

There stood a sight he had never expected to see again. His little brother. Sam stood there in ill-fitting clothing, barefoot, his hair a wild mess.

He was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.

"Dean," Sam rasped right before his brother plowed into him. Dean felt a shiver run through Sam's body, a hesitation, before he gripped the back of Dean's shirt just as tightly.

Too thin, was Dean's first thought once the haze of shock lifted, at least a minute later. He grabbed Sam's shoulders and held him at arm's length, concern piercing his joy. The kid's shoulders were too slight and there was a distance Dean had never seen before in his brother's eyes.

Before he could voice any of the million anxious questions flying through his head, he heard Bobby shout his name from the front. Dean looked at Sam who nodded in response to the unspoken question.

Dean tightened his grip before letting go, relishing the contact to his lost brother. He led the way back into the house, pretending not to notice Sam's cautious entrance. When Bobby caught sight of the youngest Winchester, he clutched him in as hard a hug as Dean's.

Sam hugged him back, but Dean could see from his angle that Sam's eyes never stopped moving. And when Bobby released the hug, Sam smoothly turned so that he was the closest to the exit.

"Lisa, Cas," he said, nodding to each of them in greeting before turning an accusing gaze on his older brother. "What did you do, Dean?"

"Actually, he didn't have anything to do with this. It was all Bobby and me," Lisa inserted.

She crossed the room to stand by Dean, not touching him, but acting as a beacon of support. "I found a book by accident in our library at the University of Michigan where I work," Lisa explained, "Deep in the stacks where no one would find it, but it fell when I walked by it. When Bobby and I ran out of ideas for getting you out, Sam, the book was our last bet."

"Ancient Greek, a bitch to translate," Bobby grunted. "So much dialect to wade through, I really could've used your help," he said nodding at Sam, who stayed silent.

"What was in the book?" Cas inquired.

"Fate," answered the old hunter. Then to dodge further questions, he said, "Now Sam, I'm sure you want to shower and put some of your own clothes on. I never could throw away that duffle you left here last time."

Properly distracted by the promise of being clean, Sam nodded and exited.

"I have to go if I want to be home before Ben gets home from his friend's house," Lisa said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dean on the cheek. "Call me." Once he nodded his assent, Lisa grabbed her purse and left.

"I must leave as well," Cas said before he disappeared abruptly in a fluttering of feathers.

"Well then, guess that just leaves us." Seeing the oldest Winchester staring at the ceiling, listening for footsteps, Bobby said, "Go see if your brother needs anything. I'll be down here."

Nodding gratefully at his surrogate father, Dean took the stairs three at a time. He stopped outside the bathroom door and, not hearing the water running yet, opened it and looked inside. Nothing.

Continuing down the hallway, he heard a soft footfall from Bobby's room. Sam stood by the window looking out, brow furrowed in such a familiar way Dean felt his heart leap with joy. He remembered all the hours he'd spent trying to tease a smile out of his studious brother, but he loved his Sammy's serious face that was usually a prelude to some equally serious topic or introspection.

Joining him at the window, he looked out at the back view of the salvage yard. Not the most picturesque scene, but the snow softened the outlines of the broken cars and the sunlight filtered through the clouds with beams of light. Dean didn't know what horrors his brother had suffered at the hands of Lucifer and Michael, but he knew with a certainty that it didn't have as tranquil a setting.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, surprising Dean from his reverie.

Looking into his little brother's earnest hazel eyes, Dean raised an eyebrow. "What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"For giving in. For snapping Bobby's neck. For exploding Cas. For nearly killing you." Sam looked back out the window, but not before Dean saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.

Smiling to hear more words out of the kid than he'd heard in a long time, Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I don't know if you noticed, Sammy, but all that was fixed. God brought back Cas who healed both Bobby and me."

"God," Sam muttered, his mouth twisting bitterly.

Dean couldn't help but to agree. If God were so mighty, why couldn't he have stepped in a minute sooner and saved Sammy too? But with his brother's form solidly beneath his hand, he couldn't muster up much of that old anger.

"C'mon, Sammy, let's get you cleaned." He went back to the bathroom to start the warm water, Sam following behind. But when he turned around, Sam was standing there with a white-knuckled grip on the bottom of his hoodie, as if he was fighting a battle with himself to get it off.

Dean crossed the short distance between them. "Sammy? What's wrong?" His eyes were drawn to Sam's death grip and only then did Dean see the lines that covered them, glowing pink against his pale skin.

"Show me," he ordered, his blood flowing cold. Unable to fight a direct order from his sibling, Sam stripped off his hoodie and shirt in one move. Carefully folding the clothes, he set them next to the sink, not meeting Dean's eyes.

The rush of blood in his ears was competing with the pounding of the water behind him as he tried to absorb the sight of his brother's body.

Scars decorated every square inch of skin below his collarbone. In some places there was almost symmetry, almost beauty, as if it were only an intricate decoration, not markings left by carving into human flesh.

But in others there lay only cruelty.

Around the anti-possession symbol, there were smiley faces and etchings saying, "Lucifer was here," mocking the tattoo's useless purpose in Hell. Lower, on his abdomen, there were games of tic-tac-toe, which X always won.

Seeing the direction of Dean's eyes, Sam shrugged. "I never won. If I could, he promised me…" He swallowed heavily. "But I never did."

Meeting Sam's tortured gaze, Dean tried to convey how he felt. But he couldn't describe the rioting feelings even to himself.

The hatred and bitter fury towards the fucking bastard that could do this to his brother, his helpless wish that he could take all of the pain off Sammy's scarred shoulders and put them on his own, the well of sorrow at his realization that his innocent kid brother was forever gone.

"Sammy," he breathed and reached out to trace the checkered pattern on his left bicep. He was surprised to feel only skin. No raised flesh, no scar tissue.

"It changes—er, changed every day," Sam said and examined himself with detached curiosity. "He enjoyed my uncertainty of what I would look like the next time he showed me my reflection."

Wanting to punch something, to tear out something's throat and bathe in its blood, soak in its dying screams, nearly overwhelmed Dean. No, not something. Fucking Satan. He wanted Lucifer to suffer for what he'd done to Sam, but he was safely ensconced down in his cage.

Alistair had taken a sick pleasure in torture. Pushing Dean beyond his threshold of pain every single day gave him a perverted sense of joy.

But that didn't even compare to the bored precision of the devil with nothing better to do with eternity.

Sam shrugged with finality and moved past Dean to test the water's temperature. "I need to shower," he said, not turning around to face his brother's stare again.

And not knowing what else to say, Dean left, closing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

__**A/N: **Sorry about taking a bit to post this. I had most of it written but I started my new job before I could finish. Thanks to all the readers and reviewers, for all the favorites and follows. You make my day.

**Chapter 4:**

_Grapefruit. _

_I opened my eyes and wasn't surprised to see Jess. She always smelled the same. Of grapefruit and sunshine and the electrified edge of lightning right around the corner. She was golden and hazy like any self-respecting dream should be, but I could recognize her by scent alone. I smiled at her and her blue eyes smiled back, her fingers lightly dancing across my chest. The burning started almost immediately. _

_I'd forgotten about this part._

_Jessica's forked tongue slid into my ear, tickling it. But I was past caring about such a minor annoyance. My back was arched in agony off the bed, the same one we'd shared in our apartment together before she was killed. The pain rioted across my nerve endings, up and down my body. Up and down and up and down._

_"I love you, Sam," Jess breathed in the ear she was licking. "So much, I don't know what I'd do without you." She giggled lightly, a parody of her real laugh. _

_"Stop. Please." I couldn't help but beg as the torture only got more intense. I could feel my fingers melting, but when I brought them up to push at Jess, they looked solid._

_"All mine," my girlfriend whispered. "I can do anything I want with you, for as long as I want to." She stroked a cool hand down my thigh, almost a relief against the flames that were taking over the room. Almost. "And there's nothing you can do about it."_

_The scene changed, but the pain continued. Now I was in the Impala chained to the steering wheel, Jess in the backseat with her soft hands caressing my shoulders. My muscles were liquefying, my blood boiling, but I smiled. She'd made a mistake._

_Summoning a memory wasn't hard when I was sitting in my home. _

_Instead of Jess, instead of flames, I saw Dean. The Dean that smiled. The Dean that whistled on the way to the bathroom, that threw Cheetos at my head when I was too engrossed in a book to listen to his snarky comments, that insisted on playing the same damn Led Zeppelin song fifty times in a row just because he knew it got on my nerves. The Dean that always made me stand and fight when I most wanted to flee._

_Jess howled in rage and both she and the image of the Impala faded away, back into the stark image of Lucifer and the Cage. "Well played, Sammy boy." He stood in all of his angelic glory, but I could still see his serpent form behind the glowing wings, like an imprint left by too bright a light._

_I knew my Dean's image wouldn't last long, not if Lucifer sent me back to what he liked to call Solitary, an entirely ironic name. The success was still sweet, though, no matter how short-lived._

_Lucifer flicked a wing, a tail, and I was back in Solitary. As the darkness closed in and the sounds of waking monsters grew louder, I clung to my big brother, my happy brother, and he kept me safe as long as he could. But the beasts woke up and the blackness writhed and I understood that my brother wasn't there._

*******************************SPN*******************************

I jerked awake, slapping at my limbs that were strangely whole. Trying to understand, I laid there gasping. Bobby's couch. Why was I on Bobby's couch?

It came back to me slowly. The snow, the truck, Dean. Oh God, Dean.

Showing him my scars was a mistake, I knew that now. It was only because I had been so stunned to actually see my brother again. I didn't think about how he'd react until I was about to take off my shirt. For the barest moment in Bobby's room, I'd felt normal. With Dean by my side, taking care of me like he hadn't done since I was a kid, I forgot that I'd spent a couple lifetimes as Lucifer's chew toy.

But he'd seen my hesitation in the bathroom and looked too closely. In typical Dean fashion, he ordered me to reveal what I desperately wanted to hide. He saw the mutilation of my body, the mutilation that I hardly thought of anymore, and I saw what it did to him.

His frown, his glare, his shoulders tightening, all signs of the sudden weight I had just put back onto him. I hated the way the levity had faded from his eyes as he stared. If he hadn't burst out of the house and found me so unexpectedly, I probably would have let him live his life without me dragging him down like I always do.

But he'd seen me, and now I had to try and fix the damage my appearance caused.

Hearing low voices from the kitchen, I sat up. The window behind me revealed the sun, still high in the sky. The nightmare hadn't let me sleep long.

No, not a nightmare. It was a memory. I ran my fingers through my hair, still damp from my scalding shower where I'd tried to scrub off my scars for an hour, and thought back to one of my only victories in the pit. I could count them on one hand.

The devil rarely made mistakes, and he never made them more than once.

That particular victory was bittersweet. It was my first, my only, for so many years, and I had been punished for it so severely that I didn't remember that I had a brother until Lucifer saw fit to remind me.

I shuddered and tried to blank my mind. None of that mattered now. I was out. Somehow, some way, I was out and Lucifer couldn't touch me anymore. The only thing that mattered was Dean. He couldn't find out, or I'd never see _my_ Dean again, the old Dean from before the world went nuts and took me down with it.

I stood up and stretched, feeling resolved.

He can't find out how broken I really am.

*******************************SPN*******************************

"You gotta eat something," Bobby said gruffly. He pushed a plate of eggs towards Dean before digging into his own pile.

Dean absently started eating, but he didn't taste it. Nor did he see the old hunter's concerned look in between bites. All he could see were the hideous markings on his brother's too thin body. He'd imagined so many scenarios of what his little brother was suffering in the pit, but he hadn't been prepared to see the evidence so clearly on Sam's skin.

"I don't know what you saw up there," Bobby said, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "But you—"

"He's scarred. From neck down, scars." Dean choked on his mouthful of eggs as remembered. "Lucifer played tic-tac-toe on his fucking stomach, carved it into his fucking skin," he growled.

Bobby blanched and Dean wanted to take satisfaction in making the old hunter understand, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he could kill the devil himself. Which he couldn't do. Not now, not ever. He stabbed at his breakfast with his fork as if it were Lucifer's throat.

"You're acting like you expected Sam to come out of the Cage with roses sprouting out of his ears," Bobby shrugged. "Sam doesn't need your anger, Dean. He needs to know he's safe. That he's out and that _you_," he gestured with his fork for emphasis, "Are here for him. Are you?"

"Of course I am, Bobby, you know that," Dean muttered, feeling chastised.

"I do, but does Sam?"

"Do I know what?" Sam asked walking in from the living room. He scraped the remainder of the eggs out of the skillet on a plate. "Mind if I finish?"

Neither of the other hunters moved, so Sam started eating as if they weren't staring at him. Dean couldn't help much imagine the scars that were hidden by the sleeves of Sam's shirt. Couldn't stop replaying Sam pulling his shirt off and revealing them.

Bobby cleared his throat and stood up, breaking the silence. "Well, I gotta check something outside, so I'll just let you boys finish up."

Sam nodded and continued munching. Once Bobby left, he rinsed his plate in the sink. "I'm fine, Dean, seriously."

Smirking, because his brother was so not fine, but it was like him to insist that he was. Dean scoffed. "Yeah, Sammy. You're fine. You just got out of Hell and you're completely recovered. How long did you sleep? An hour?"

"I wasn't tired," Sam answered, not looking at his brother to see if he accepted the lie. He didn't.

"Sam," Dean sighed, standing up and bringing his own plate to the sink. Sam made room and looked his brother in the eye.

"I am fine," he enunciated and left the room in one of his characteristic huffs.

"No you're not, Sammy," Dean said to the empty room. "But I don't know how to help."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Dean found Sam at the Impala. He had one hand raised, hovering an inch from the hood, as if he'd been about to touch it but got stuck halfway there.

"I haven't seen her in so long," Sam said with an embarrassed look when he saw Dean.

"Catching on that she's a lady, Sammy?" Sam threw a bitch face at him and he felt his heart twist.

The Winchesters don't take pictures. They never sent out Christmas cards; they didn't have any grandparents who insisted on letters; they didn't take vacations. So they didn't have family pictures. Only school photos, IDs, and the occasional joking snap with the last few rounds in a disposable camera.

One of the only ones Dean had of Sam—since the kid was usually the one behind the camera, determined to finish the roll—was one Jess had sent to him in a letter. She'd written that Sam had only just told her that he had an older brother and that he hadn't talked to Dean in two years. So she'd sent a letter to the Uncle Bobby that Sam had on his emergency contact list with instructions to give it to Dean.

Inside, she introduced herself and added a picture of Sam. The photographer, probably Jess, captured a moment of freedom and happiness that Dean had rarely seen. His head was thrown back as he laughed, sun shining on his face, igniting his hazel eyes.

Dean kept that picture in his wallet.

But Sam's bitch face was one that Dean had no picture for. As much as he mocked his little brother for it, he had never thought to capture it on film. And when Sam jumped headfirst into Hell, he had never thought he'd see it again.

But here was the bitch face in living color, right in front of him.

"We can take a ride later. Maybe I'll let you drive her," Dean said.

Knowing the emotion behind the statement, if not the reason, Sam nodded in bemusement. An awkward moment passed.

"I think it's time we ask Bobby what he actually did, don't you?" Not waiting for an answer, Dean led the way to the garage he assumed the hunter would be hiding in.

Sure enough, Bobby was under the hood of some clunker, banging away.

"Bobby," Dean said loudly. The banging stopped and Bobby emerged wiping his hands with a dirty rag.

"Guess it's time, huh." The boys nodded and Bobby sighed. He threw the rag aside and adjusted his hat. "Alright, but can't we do it inside where it's warm?"

Sam shook his head and cut to the chase. "What's the catch? Whatever you and Lisa did, there's no way you 'simply' raised me from the dead." He'd obviously been mulling the problem over in that geek brain of his.

"You're right," Bobby grunted. "Ain't no such thing as a simple hell-raising. But that's not we did." He paused as if unsure how to continue.

"You said something about fate before," Dean prodded.

"Right. Well, your Lisa's book was basically a how-to manual written by some priests in ancient Greece. A lot of precise directions of how to properly run a temple. But there were also some ceremonies, some spells. The one we did was actually pretty easy, but it had some warning labels."

"What kind of warning labels?" Dean pushed again when Bobby stopped.

"The kind that said once you get the Fates involved, they don't let go easy."

Sam frowned. "Wait, you actually used the Fates?"

"Sort of," Bobby answered. "More like petitioned them to make sure destiny is working right. Wasn't really a spell, as much as it was a plea for them to check their 'threads of life' or whatever they use. Since you're out, Sam, I guess the girls decided Hell wasn't the right place for you."

"That's good news, right?" When nobody responded to Dean, he continued. "I mean, Sammy didn't belong in the Cage. The Fates got him out. All good?"

"When has anything ever been 'all good,' Dean?" Sam muttered. "And why did you ignore the warnings, Bobby? I can see Lisa trying something like this, but you? You've been around the bush a few too many times to just hope for the best."

Bobby laid a glare on the young Winchester. "One, we didn't know if it would work. It's been gathering dust for who knows how long. And two, it's not like we had a choice. If it got you out of Lucifer's hands it was worth any risk."

Sam huffed, but Dean interrupted whatever bitching he was about to start. "I'm with Bobby. He should've let me in on it, but it was the only thing he could do. Besides, we can handle a couple little girls."

"Girls with enough power to pull me out of the place that absolutely nothing can escape from." Sam's eyes faded away and his brow creased as if he was remembering something unpleasant. But before Dean could say something to distract his brother from thoughts of Hell, Sam straightened and looked at Bobby. "I'm gonna need whatever books you got on the Fates."

"Sure thing," Bobby said, and started towards the house. "Haven't had time myself. We did the spell and then you and Dean showed up about an hour later."

Sam stopped walking abruptly and Dean almost ran him over. "An hour? It took me more than four hours to get here from where I woke up."

"Where did you wake up?" Dean asked.

"Some little town in Minnesota. Woke up in the snow, stole a truck and some clothes, and headed here. I didn't expect anyone to be here."

Bobby squinted in thought. "Guess we'll have to get used to that, what with working with the Fates and all. Bet they knew what I was going to ask long ago."

Dean was thinking about what little he knew about the Fates. He knew that they were sisters and that they dealt in destiny. But since he'd never had to kill one, he'd never worried about how little he knew about them. With Sam in research mode now, that would change quickly.

"Dean showed up right after I got here," Sam mused.

"And I drove my baby. The Fates must've had something to do with that. I haven't touched her in eight months," Dean added but regretted it immediately when he saw Sam's eyes fade out again.

Sam swallowed heavily but acted like he wasn't thinking about how he'd spent the past…Dean didn't know how long. Hell's time for him was roughly ten years downstairs per month topside. Maybe the Cage ran differently, but he was shaken with the thought that his little brother had twice the number of decades of torture under his belt than Dean.

Realizing that the other two had already gone inside, he let out a shuddering breath that he had been holding in. God, he had hated destiny for so long.

The angels told him it was his destiny to invite an archangel inside his body to stop the Apocalypse. They told him that destiny was why he went to Hell in the first place. They told him he had to kill his little brother and that the world had to end. He responded with a raised middle finger and a "Fuck you," but Sammy still ended up in the Cage in order to save the world and halt destiny's inexorable plan.

But the Fates, deliverers of destiny, had decreed that Sam didn't belong in Hell. Maybe they were actually on the Winchesters side.

He'd lost hope long ago, but having Sam back gave him enough faith to close his eyes and offer a prayer to a God who only occasionally listened. "Please. Please just let this be okay. Please…"

Not knowing what else to say, he opened his eyes and walked inside with his trademark smile firmly in place.

"Sure you still know what you're doing, Sammy?"

"Shut up, Dean." And Dean smiled for real at earning another bitch face.

**************************SPN**************************

**A/N: **So Fate doesn't actually show up till season 6. So early warning, I'm probably going to take a little creative license with them. Reviews are love!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **So, I'm going to blame real life for the wait between chapters. That and an inability to string these scenes together in a coherent manner. Anyways, here y'all go. Hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback is much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

"Stop slaving away over there and eat something, Sam," Dean said, waving a carton of fried rice under my nose. I wrinkled my nose and frowned at the disturbance to my work.

_"What do you want to eat today, Sammy-boy? You should definitely try some of these eyeballs. They're fresh from the rack. You can almost taste the pain of having them ripped out by my pets. Mmm, tangy. Or maybe you're more in the mood to gnaw on finger bones. You really appreciated those yesterday—"_

"Not hungry," I grunted, interrupting the unwelcome memory. I didn't look up from my book.

Dean sighed and made room on the chair across from me so he could sit, almost toppling a precarious pile of tomes next to the table. "You haven't stopped poring over those books all day. Only thing you've eaten was a couple bites of eggs this morning. Besides, I don't know how you can even see the words. You've had a headache for the past hour."

I jerked my hand away from my temple, only now realizing I had been trying to rub away the pain behind my eyes, and glared at my brother.

"I'm fine," I emphasized and went back to the book about the Fates, inconveniently written in Ancient Greek. Old languages are never easy, but with the persistent ache in my head it became an annoying chore.

"Sure y'are, Sammy. And I'll believe it right after you eat some food." He plunked the carton down on top of my book before standing and walking to the fridge. "Beer?"

Knowing there was no use fighting my stubborn brother, I nodded and picked up the food. "A fork too," I relented and Dean grinned at the victory.

He popped the top off two beers, grabbed a fork out of a pile on the counter, and sat back down at the table. "So what have you got so far?"

Absently taking a bite of the fried rice, and pushing away all thoughts of eyes or fingers, I flipped through the notes I'd made so far today. "Not much," I said around my food, ignoring Dean's smug expression. "At least, not much we didn't already know. There are three of them, sisters, most often called the Moirai. Clotho spins the thread of life, Lachesis measures it, and Atropos cuts it."

"So which one brought you up?" Dean asked, taking a drink from his bottle.

"I'm not sure yet. Couple thousand years ago, they were a big deal. Bigger than all those gods in the Greek pantheon. I've found a few different passages…" I picked up one of the books off a pile on the ground and flipped to a particular page. "Like here," I pointed and showed Dean.

He glanced at the archaic writing and cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at me before taking another swig of his beer. I rolled my eyes. "It _suggests_ that the Moirai actually predate most of the gods at that time and that they controlled the gods' lifespans as well as mortals'. Though books written later claim that the gods came first and the Fates were born from a tryst between Zeus and Themis, goddess of justice."

"Tryst," Dean scoffed. "Sammy, I don't need a lecture. How is any of this important?"

"Information is always important," I argued. "But this is especially interesting because of what it means."

"And it means…" Dean prompted.

"It means that the Fates are a hell of a lot more powerful than anyone gives them credit for."

"Well, they did somehow get you out of an inescapable prison," Dean said idly.

_"Know what is the best part of our little hole? There's no escape. Not ever. Not for you, not for me. You're stuck with me Sam. Isn't it wonderful?"_

I flinched, but covered it by taking another bite of rice. Too salty and not quite warm enough, but my growling stomach finally had something to digest. I wasn't about to admit it to my brother, but I could already feel my headache begin to fade as the food made its way through my system. Wanting to speed my recovery more, I stood and walked over to Bobby's kitchen drawers, rummaging through the one I could have sworn had...

"A-ha," I said, discovering a nearly empty bottle of Ibuprofen behind packets of disreputable herbs. Tossing the remainder of the pills in my mouth and washing it down with a swig of beer, I leaned against the counter and thought on our current problem.

"You know," Dean mused. "We can't solve our issues when we don't even know what they are. And we won't know until the Marias—"

"Moirai," I corrected.

"Whatever," Dean muttered. "We can't do anything until we know what their reasons were. We don't know how, we don't know why. We don't know what they are going to want from us. However powerful they might be, they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of pulling you out Lucifer's grasp on just a whim."

_"Does it hurt when I touch you here? How about here? Oh, poor baby, I know just where to touch to make you feel all better…"_

Shuddering, but forcefully not thinking anything about Lucifer or his hands, I drained the rest of my beer. After throwing the empty pill canister and beer bottle into the trash can under the sink, I sank back into my seat and opened another book.

I picked up my pencil and continued the tedious translations. "Yeah, Dean, but we need to know as much as possible before we get stuck in a situation we can't get out of." I ignored my brother's worried look and dove back into the text. My headache still lingered, as did Dean, but I didn't look up from the book.

"Suit yourself, Sammy," Dean said softly before leaving the room. But I barely heard him, already scribbling out notes about what I was reading in the book. I had to stay busy. Every time I stopped, I thought about things better left alone.

Right now my work was the only thing distracting me.

**********SPN**********

"Hey, babe, how's Ben doing? Yeah? Tell him I said…yeah exactly that. You know the drill—lock the doors, salt the windows, all that jazz…No, I'm not sure, but Sammy's been digging up intel like some sort of geek-badger. He's barely stopped to breathe, but don't worry. We already know more than before and…Lisa, I can't do that to you…Alright, alright, have I told you how incredible you are lately? We'll check in tomorrow…Okay, you be safe too. Love you, Lees."

Dean clicked his phone shut and smiled.  
"What're you fool-grinning about, boy?" Bobby grunted from behind his desk. He didn't look up, but he didn't need to see to know Dean's expression.

"Just that it's nice to be 'we' again, you know?" Dean said and sat back down on the sofa. He picked up his ivory gripped .45 from where he'd set it down mid-cleaning to answer his cell and quickly finished his work. Bobby knew that despite the gun not being used on a hunt for the past few months, it wouldn't have so much as a speck of grease or dust marring it.

Bobby understood too well how much it meant to the kid to have his brother back, even if Dean couldn't express it with anything but soulful looks.

"Oh and Lisa," Dean adds with forced nonchalance, "She says we need to keep her updated, but that she doesn't expect me to come back for a while."

"Quite a woman you got there," Bobby commented.

"I like her well enough," Dean winks suggestively.

They sit in silence for a while. Bobby slowly made his way through a Sumerian passage that might have some useful information. Dean cleans all of his weapons, handling each one like a long-lost lover.

"I'm worried about Sam," Dean breaks the silence with a low murmur. Neither of the men looked away from their work, acting as if the quiet words hadn't shattered their illusion of peace. Bobby flipped a page and Dean moved onto polishing his knives.

"I don't know what I expected," Dean says almost to himself. "Some big reunion out of a chick flick movie?" He huffed a sarcastic laugh. Sam was the girl who expected handholding, not Dean. "But he's…he's different."

Bobby snapped his book closed and glared at Dean. "Of course he ain't the same, idjit. You weren't the same after your stint in Hell, were you? Sam isn't a broken mess on the ground like I half expected he'd be, and you should be damned happy for that. He's out and he's safe." Although Bobby's stare was burning a hole in Dean's head, the kid didn't look up. He was listening though, if the cessation of knife rubbing was any indication.

"But he isn't happy is he?" Dean mused.

"Damn foolish Winchesters," Bobby muttered under his breath. "The boy is bleeding happy to be out of Hell, Dean, I promise you that. He's just got a lot of things to process now. Like the fact that he was Lucifer's chew toy in the Cage."

Seeing the lost expression on Dean's face, Bobby shook off his impatient anger and sighed. "Look, just give him room, okay? We can't do anything unless Sam wants us to help. You Winchesters are all the same that way," he tried to joke. "Just let him heal. He'll be fine in no time, you'll see."

Bobby reopened his book and went back to his reading, conversation over.

He didn't see Dean's empty smile as the other hunter carefully put the weapons back in the duffle. "When have we ever been _just fine_?" Dean asked to no one in particular.

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**A/N:** Reviews keep me going. Tell me what you thought!


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